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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25453948">Bathed in Thine Own Blood</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyZiri/pseuds/LuckyZiri'>LuckyZiri</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ends of the Earth [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>BNA: Brand New Animal (Anime)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Animal Death, Blood &amp; Injury, Brother-Sister Relationships, But also, Character Study, Found Family, Gen, Heavy Angst, Historical, Historical Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Mild Swearing, Minor Character Death, Murder, Ogami Shirou is bad at feelings, One Shot, Parallels, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Religion, Violence, Worldbuilding, alternative history, an attempt was made, canon complaint, original character death, shirou’s backstory, spoilers for episode 8 and after</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:22:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,197</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25453948</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyZiri/pseuds/LuckyZiri</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He clutched at his throat, fingers pressed against the scar there, until the feeling of terror passed. “Easy,” he whispered, like someone trying to soothe a spooked horse. “You’re alright. You’re alive. It’s not real. It’s over.”<br/>---<br/>In his own words, Shirou tells Michiru the story of how he became the Silver Wolf.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kagemori Michiru &amp; Ogami Shirou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ends of the Earth [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848598</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>136</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Bathed in Thine Own Blood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello pals, I finally finished writing a fic! It’s for Brand New Animal (BNA), and I’m really excited to share it with you! This fic was an attempt to add more detail to Shirou’s backstory because I personally wanted M O A R and thought I’d give my take on it! </p><p>I also really love European history and thought I’d try to put some of my nerd knowledge into writing this lol. It’s not perfect by any means and I’m no expert, so I’m sorry if something is inaccurate!</p><p>Hope you enjoy! owo/</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shirou didn’t dream often, and he hadn’t experienced nightmares in over a decade. They’d been the worst when he’d first become Ginrou, plaguing him every single night, Sometimes, they woke him, but he couldn’t move, and it was as if he were still trapped in the dream. A human soldier holding a long spear would stand over him, eyes glowing red and lips parting in a brutal grin.</p><p> </p><p>But over time, they’d grown rare. </p><p> </p><p>Or so he thought.</p><p> </p><p>So when he woke to vomit into the trash can beside his bed, it was a little alarming, but not exactly uncommon.</p><p> </p><p>He clutched at his throat, fingers pressed against the scar there, until the feeling of terror passed. “Easy,” he whispered, like someone trying to soothe a spooked horse. “You’re alright. You’re alive. It’s not real. It’s over.”</p><p> </p><p>The stench was the only thing keeping him focused. With a growl, he covered his nose and slipped out from the sheets, but the instant he tried to stand, his head spun.</p><p> </p><p>“Shit.” He hit the floor with a thump, head knocking the side of his bed. He hissed through his teeth and crouched there for a moment. Breathed in. Out.</p><p> </p><p>Footsteps pounded outside his door. “Shirou? Are you okay? I heard something—”</p><p> </p><p>Michiru. What was she still doing up?</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine,” he ground out, and rolled to sit up. At least he could do that, but his head still spun, and a sharp pain had entered behind his right eye.</p><p> </p><p>The door creaked open, and he could smell Michiru before he saw her. Her scent was a strange mix of human and Beastman, and she always smelled like worn out tennis shoes or leather. Not exactly ladylike—most women had more flowery or bubbly scents due to perfumes—but it was her. </p><p> </p><p>“Shirou? Ah! Oh no! Did you fall? Are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>She grabbed his shoulder, and he didn’t bother to shove her off. He was too tired. “Migraine,” was all he got out, and she shot off to the kitchen. He curled further into himself, and by the time Michiru had returned with pain pills and a water bottle, the damn thing had gone into a full blown attack.</p><p> </p><p>She sat with him while they waited for the meds to kick in, but he, regrettably, threw up again. Michiru said nothing, which was suspicious on its own since she could never shut up. But his brain was on fire, and he didn’t question it. </p><p> </p><p>They’d done this before, actually, and they’d most likely do it again. Maybe his nightmares were more frequent than he’d first thought.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually, the pain ebbed to an annoying throb and ache. Michiru had grabbed an ice pack at some point, and he pressed it over his eyes, head thrown back against the side of his bed. </p><p> </p><p>“You can stop worrying.” His voice came out like a half-hearted croak, and he cleared his throat. “I’ve had worse pain.”</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t speak for a moment, but her shoulder pressed into him like a little kid curling closer to a parent or older sibling. (He was neither, mind you.) “I know, but it’s scary because I don’t know how to help. You said it’s because of…nightmares, right?”</p><p> </p><p><em> Hmph </em> . Help. It’d been months since he’d first met her, and he still hadn’t figured out why she thought she had to help everyone and everything. The other day, a literal squirrel had somehow gotten into the co-op. She’d chased it all over the Horners’ kitchen, yelling, “LET ME SAVE YOU!” Which he supposed translated to, <em> let me set you outside! </em>Shirou had threatened to eat it, and you’d think he’d said he was going to eat her by her reaction. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, it was a nightmare.” He adjusted the ice pack so he could look at her out of the corner of his eye. She’d turned off all the lights, but he could still see her in the dark. </p><p> </p><p>“Do…do you wanna talk about it?”</p><p> </p><p>A pause. He sighed through his nose. “Not while my head feels like it’s going to roll off my neck. Give it a few more minutes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>She picked at her claws, agitated. This was a regular occurrence now too. While he tried to keep his nightmares private, Michiru’s hearing was keen, and she heard him when it got bad. A few weeks ago, she’d tried to wake him herself, and he’d nearly punched her nose through her brain stem because he had no clue where he was. </p><p> </p><p>So she started asking questions, here and there. Like<em> , Sooo what’d you dream about last night? </em> And, <em> Melissa told me about this calming technique she learned to relieve stress! Wanna hear it? </em></p><p> </p><p>He did not need any calming techniques because he was not stressed. At all. Ever. He was just tired and old as hell.</p><p> </p><p>She wasn’t sneaky about her nosiness, and he actually…didn’t mind it, but he just had never talked about this with anyone but Natalia, and he’d still kept some things to himself. Granted, his memory was spotty. A normal brain wasn’t meant to hold so much information all at once, so of course he’d forgotten things over the centuries, including just how old he was. (He’d stopped counting after the first fifty years.) He used to write stuff down, especially in that first century, but over time he found it pointless. The effort wasn’t worth it anymore.</p><p> </p><p>But he could never forget the beginning. No matter how hard he tried, that’s where his nightmares led him. Back to the day his throat was cut, to when he was tossed aside like a forgotten thing.</p><p> </p><p>It was a bloody story. A terrible one. Michiru had heard it from Natalia, but only the vague parts. The most basic of details. There was more to it than just, <em> Oh, by the way, I was murdered and somehow the blood of my friends and family turned me into a pseudo-deity.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Already his headache was subsiding thanks to the medicine and his own natural healing. The clock on his nightstand read 12:14 AM. No sleep for him now. He figured the only reason Michiru was still up—despite him insisting she get more sleep—was because she was worried about him. (Or because she was watching cat videos again. Or both.)</p><p> </p><p>He sighed, louder this time, and removed the ice pack. “Shirou isn’t my birth name,” he said, quiet. “A thousand years ago, I changed it.”</p><p> </p><p>Michiru jerked her head to look at him. “Wait, is what I think happening, happening? Is this bonding time? Are we bonding?” She scooted closer to him so that her stinky paw pads were against his thigh, and she hugged his fallen pillow closer to her chest. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t make it weird,”  he drawled, “or I’ll stop right now,”</p><p> </p><p>“I won’t! I promise, I—” Her head tilted like a bird’s. “Wait. Your…name?” Then her eyes bugged out. “Your name isn’t Shirou?!”</p><p> </p><p>“Mayor Rose told you where I was born. Do you really think my medieval European parents would have chosen a Japanese name for me when they had no idea what Japan even was?”</p><p> </p><p>She scratched the back of her neck. “No, I guess not, but why did you change your birth name? Didn’t…didn’t you like it? I don’t think I could ever change my name if it came down to it, even if I did live for a thousand years.”</p><p> </p><p>He crossed his arm. She constantly reminded him how young she really was, how all of them were, and how there’d never be anyone who he could truly relate to about these types of things. He hadn’t thought about any of this in depth since he’d saved Natalia, and she knew about everything because she’d been in his life longer than anyone. But it just…wasn’t the same either. She’d grown up, and she held a wisdom to her that Shirou felt he lacked, despite his long lifespan.</p><p> </p><p>He’d never had a chance to really…live, like the others. He was their god, and gods didn’t weep over something as small as having a normal life.</p><p> </p><p>He’d been in Japan for almost seventy years at this point. Before then, he’d mainly traveled the Balkans and hopped across Eurasia, helping as many Beastmen as possible. And of course, each move had required a new name to blend in. He spoke dozens of languages, so it wasn’t hard to come up with something.</p><p> </p><p>He glared at the ceiling. “I guess my reasoning was…it just didn’t fit anymore. As I traveled, I took on so many new identities, that if you were to call me anything, I think I’d probably respond to it.” His eyes narrowed in her direction. “But don’t get any ideas.” </p><p> </p><p>“What? Me? Get ideas?” Michiru batted her eyelashes innocently. “But I’m glad you told me this. I guess that never crossed my mind, but I think Shirou fits you! It sounds almost like <em> shiroi </em> .” She grinned, all teeth. “Close enough to silver, right? And you’re not sneaky for using Ogami as a family name. You basically named yourself White Wolf God. Come <em> on </em>, you edgy weirdo.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re the one who didn’t figure out I was Ginrou until I had to save you from Yaba.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you calling me dumb?!”</p><p> </p><p>He shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>She stuck out her tongue in typical child-like fashion. “Jerk.”</p><p> </p><p>He shoved her off him, forcing an “<em> ack </em>!” out of her. “I’m going to tell you a story.”</p><p> </p><p>“Eh? A story? About what?” </p><p> </p><p>A long sigh, and she finally settled, large eyes peering at him over the pillow’s edge. She looked just like a little kid, and it almost made him laugh.</p><p> </p><p>Almost.</p><p> </p><p>He slapped the ice pack back over his eyes and settled against the side of the bed, ankles and arms crossed. “You have to promise not to interrupt.” </p><p> </p><p>“I promise!”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. So—”</p><p> </p><p>“You have to do it like in the movies.”</p><p> </p><p>“What.”</p><p> </p><p>“You know! Like once upon a time and all that.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not doing that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shiroooou!”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t whine. I don’t care how you humans tell your stories, this is how I tell them. So shut up.”</p><p> </p><p>She saluted him with one majestic swoop of her arm. “Aye aye, Captain!”</p><p> </p><p>Okay, maybe that did get a smile out of him.</p><p> </p><p>She looked at him sheepishly. “Can I get a snack first?”</p><p> </p><p>“If you must.”</p><p> </p><p>She bolted faster than sound, and he had a few moments of peace as he tried to work out just how to tell this story. Despite how long ago it had happened, most details were still fresh in his memory, like old wounds threatening to tear at any moment. He knew once he started speaking, they just might. But he couldn’t back out now. Michiru wouldn’t hear of it.</p><p> </p><p>He set his jaw. Maybe…if he pretended to tell the story like he was telling it about someone else…</p><p> </p><p>In a whirlwind, Michiru returned, carrying two armfuls of chip packets. “I’m ready!” </p><p> </p><p>She threw half of them at him, but he didn’t bother opening one. “Really? That many?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m a teenager! We eat a lot!” Fluffing her tail out, she plopped beside him and looked at him expectantly. “So, does this story have a title?”</p><p> </p><p>He pursed his lips, and suddenly it came to him. </p><p> </p><p>“It does. I’m going to tell you the Story of Abiyad.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Once, when the world was quieter, Beastmen and humans lived together in harmony. At least, that’s what we were taught.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> This sounds like the beginning of Avatar: the Last Airbender, Shirou. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What did I tell you about interrupting? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sorry. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>This was in a country that no longer exists, with a name no one remembers, but they remember the city: Nirvasyl. The Byzantines held the south, while the Bulgarians resided further north, and they’d both been eying Nirvasyl as a potential trading city. Humans and Beastmen of all kinds knew of Nirvasyl for its culture, its trade, its fine linen and precious stones.</p><p> </p><p>It was also known for its god, the silver wolf Argyros.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wait, hold on! Time out! I thought there was no Ginrou before you? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> If you’d quit interrupting, then you would know where I’m going with this. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ugggh, you’re too slow. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>In the heart of the city resided a temple for Argyros. It resembled something out of ancient Greece with its tall pillars and colorful statues, and it could house over a hundred people at once. When children were chosen to become priests and priestesses, they would live inside the temple’s back chambers.</p><p> </p><p>Said children were chosen based on a special birthmark that resembled a star, and at six years of age, they were taken from their parents to be trained in Argyros’s ways.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Let me guess. You were chosen. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> No. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> HUH? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> This is your final warning to not interrupt again. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Most Nirvasyl residents lived in the inner city, but some small families occupied the outskirts, mainly farmers. Abiyad’s family were horse breeders, specializing in the Turkoman, as his father was born from a clan in what’s now present day Turkmenistan. They were highly sought after by human nobles for their metallic coats, bold temperaments, and swiftness. </p><p> </p><p>His father was a bighorn sheep Beastman, and his mother a wolf. The irony wasn’t lost to them about this coupling, but they didn’t care. They’d married young, passionately in love, and had their first child not long after. Six years later came a daughter, Helene.</p><p> </p><p>Helene was sheep type, while her brother was wolf type. They looked little alike, in beast or human form, except for their dark hair and eyes, which they’d inherited from their mother. Since childhood, Abiyad had been told he took after her with his delicate features and stoic expression. It’d angered him, because he was a prideful child, and wanted to be considered strong. </p><p> </p><p>When not working as a local shepherd’s assistant, he’d practice sword fighting with a pitchfork or crook, jabbing trees and rocks and anything he could find. </p><p> </p><p>One summer day, when he was twelve, he’d been practicing well into the evening. The shepherd he worked for was an elderly bear Beastman with poor eyesight, and the old man had long since gone home, taking the sheep with him. </p><p> </p><p>Abiyad’s arms grew tired, and he wiped the sweat from his brow, right as a familiar scent wafted up his nose. A smell like earth, like wool, and springtime laughter.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re never going to get any better doing that.” Helene appeared over the crest of the nearest hill. At six years old, she was a rambunctious child, and she liked to watch him from a nearby rock, her knees curled up to her chest and head resting in her palms. She frequently ran away from chores when Mother wasn’t looking. Said she wanted to protect the sheep like Abiyad. Their father was gone for the next few days, off to sell yearlings to the Bulgarians.</p><p> </p><p>She bounded up to him, her legs shifting into sheep’s hooves, and sprang onto the nearest rock. “I could do it better.”</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad barked a laugh. “You? No way.” </p><p> </p><p>He thrust the crook at her, hooking it around her ankle and pretended to knock her off. He grinned when she squealed and somersaulted over the edge anyway. Typical. </p><p> </p><p>“Meanie!” She stuck her tongue out. “And I bet I could! I can do anything you can do!”</p><p> </p><p>“No you can’t.” He jabbed her again. “You don’t have strong teeth and claws like me. You’re <em> soft </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Her cheeks puffed, face reddening like she might cry. That was her usual go-to tactic to get Mother and Father to pity her when she claimed Abiyad bullied her. “You don’t need sharp teeth to hold a sword! And I’m not soft!”</p><p> </p><p>“You are! You have wool and everything!”</p><p> </p><p>Now she really was crying, and he immediately regretted opening his mouth. As much of a pain as she was, seeing her cry made his insides twist up. Father always scolded him for it, saying that since he was the elder brother, he should always be looking out for her, protecting her. </p><p> </p><p>With a sigh, he reached for her hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made fun of you.”</p><p> </p><p>She sniffed, rubbing her nose, but took his hand without a word. </p><p> </p><p>“The sun’s getting low,” he continued, leading her toward home. “Mama will worry if we don’t make it back before dark.”</p><p> </p><p>They spent that evening without Father. Sometimes he wouldn’t return for days, sometimes more than a week. He usually traveled alone, and Abiyad always begged to be taken too, just to escape this city and travel somewhere far away. To see the world, to see how other Beastmen lived.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s too young still,” Mother had said before Father left that morning. “Maybe next time.”</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad had, of course, gotten angry with her, but one snap of her fangs sent him scurrying away like a kicked puppy with its tail between his legs. He knew better than to argue with her, but she just wouldn’t listen to him. He wasn’t a baby who needed his hand held all the time. </p><p> </p><p>That night, after Mother had put Helene to bed, she spoke privately with her son. They sat in their small kitchen, Mother’s hands working the colorful beaded necklace she always wore. It was from her homeland, further east, where it was mostly desert. </p><p> </p><p>“Tomorrow, the priests will come.” Her voice was quiet, and the candle light caused her eyes to reflect gold.</p><p> </p><p>“Why?” Abiyad asked. The priests never visited this part of the city, the outer wall, unless they were trying to spread the Silver Wolf’s wisdom. </p><p> </p><p>Mother closed her eyes and exhaled heavily through her nose. “They want Helene to become a priestess.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh? But she doesn’t have the mark!”</p><p> </p><p>“Shush. I know. But I do, and so do you. You were too old to be taken when we first moved here, and now they want a girl child. They believe that since Helene is related to us, then Argyros will not be upset that she doesn’t have a mark.”</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad touched his forehead, which in human form, was bare. When he transformed into a wolf, his fur was dark brown, but a white patch appeared between his eyes, much like a star, though it merged into the white of his muzzle. Mother’s mark was singular. Unblemished. A perfect star, but she’d been born in another land, far away from Argyros’s religion.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want them to take her,” he insisted. He could already feel stubborn tears forming. “She’s not meant to be locked up in a temple.”</p><p> </p><p>Mother’s hand curled into a fist around her necklace. To hide her own trembling, perhaps. “I know, but she won’t be locked up. Not...completely. And we can’t defy the gods.”</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad said nothing, though his heart and mind raced. This was beyond his understanding; that’s what the priests would say. But it wasn’t fair. It didn’t make sense. There was no justice in stealing a child away from her family. Even he, a child himself, knew that.</p><p> </p><p>But to defy Argyros’s priests was to defy the god himself. And if the Silver Wolf became angry, then the crops would fail, the livestock would die, and disease would spread across Nirvasyl.</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad did not sleep well that night.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The priests came at dawn, right as the sky was streaked with pale reds.</p><p> </p><p>They wore white cloaks, and he couldn’t fathom how they kept the fabrics so clean. Wolf-like masks covered their faces, the muzzles protruding like the actual thing, and stars had been etched into the forehead. </p><p> </p><p>Manifesting as her wolf form, Mother stood at the door of their home, her long curly hair flowing behind her, and her wolf eyes sharp and steady. </p><p> </p><p>The high priest held the holy book under his arm as he approached. “We have come for your daughter.”</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad had been watching from inside near a window, peeking through the curtains. Helene was still asleep, as usual. He’d morphed into wolf form to hear better, and the moment those words left the priest’s lips, he bristled.</p><p> </p><p>No. <em> No </em>. They wouldn’t take her. They couldn’t. He’d make sure they never touched her.</p><p> </p><p>He scampered into his and Helene’s room. She lay curled in her bed, dark curls spilling about her pillow. At first, he paused. He didn’t want to wake her, because waking her meant she’d start crying, and the priests would hear.</p><p> </p><p>But they were going to take her away. He had to do something.</p><p> </p><p>“Helene,” he hissed. “<em> Helene </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>She scrunched her small nose and curled further into herself. “Go awaaay.”</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad’s ears twitched at the sound of Mother’s voice. “She’s in here.”</p><p> </p><p>His stomach sank. There was no time. Why hadn’t he thought of something last night? Made a plan? Stolen her away?</p><p> </p><p><em> You would defy the gods? </em> A voice hissed in his ear, and he spun around just as the door opened. His mother paused upon seeing him there, her eyes widening, and her mouth parted. “Abi—”</p><p> </p><p>He bared his teeth as the high priest shuffled inside the room. “You can’t have her.”</p><p> </p><p>“Abiyad.” His mother’s voice was cold, her expression stone. “Get out of the way. You knew this would happen.”</p><p> </p><p>By now, Helene was awake. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, then gasped upon seeing the high priest. “Mama?”</p><p> </p><p>The high priest smiled beneath his mask. Abiyad couldn’t make out his features very well, only his stubbled jaw and dark eyes. Eyes that were kind, or perhaps he’d just imagined that to make himself feel better. </p><p> </p><p>Mother came to sit on the edge of Helene’s bed, and her long fingers brushed through Helene’s curls. “You must go with them, my lamb. I’m sorry we couldn’t do this when Father is home, but he will visit you at the temple. We all will. I promise.”</p><p> </p><p>Helene’s doe eyes were wide, and she glanced between Mother and the priest. “The temple?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s right,” the high priest said. His voice was quiet, soothing, but held an authoritative note to it. “The temple is where you’ll learn how to heal people, and how to please Argyros. Don’t you want that?”</p><p> </p><p>His sister nodded, though she reached for Mother. “B-but I don’t want to leave.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, lamb,” Mother whispered. “I know. But you must go. I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>Helene’s cries would haunt Abiyad that night, and many nights after. That evening, Mother came into his room, candle in hand, and gently pressed her hand to his shoulder. He flinched away, rolling onto his side so he didn’t have to look at her. </p><p> </p><p>“It had to be done, Abiyad. You knew—”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t care.” Tears sprouted at the edges of his eyes, but he grit his teeth to keep from full on crying. “I should have gone. I have the mark, not her.”</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t, my love. I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t understand then, and wouldn’t for a long time. “But it’s not fair!”</p><p> </p><p>“I know. I know it's not fair, but the world we live in isn’t fair, and it never has been. I…” She released a shaky breath. “I just hope you’ll understand why I did it, some day.”  The entire afternoon she’d tried to remain strong. Abiyad hadn’t noticed her own tears, how they raked her body, how she couldn’t bring herself to eat supper that evening. </p><p> </p><p>But he didn’t care. “I hate you!” He screamed it, tears running over his cheeks. “I wish they’d taken you! I wish you were dead!”</p><p> </p><p>He’d come to regret it.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>She was thrown from a horse six months later. Hit her head against stone, hard enough that it cracked her skull, and she bled into the earth.</p><p> </p><p>She was dead before Father could intervene. </p><p> </p><p>The human client had insisted on a riding demonstration for this particular stud colt, a fiery bay, despite Father insisting the horse wasn’t ready. The creature needed more time, more handling, possibly even needed to be gelded because of his aggressive temperament.</p><p> </p><p>The client was a pompous soldier from somewhere further south, wearing a breastplate with a strange tree inscribed on the surface. </p><p> </p><p>Abiyad hated him instantly.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll ride,” Mother had insisted. “I trust this colt. He knows me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Foolishness,” Father had spat, his amber eyes narrowed. “A wolf may know you too, but it will still bite when provoked.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you have forgotten, dear husband, that <em> I </em> am a wolf.”</p><p> </p><p>Later, much later, when Abiyad was grown and had spent half of his own life killing, he would realize it was Mother’s pride that killed her, not the human. </p><p> </p><p>But that didn’t stop his hatred. That human had been greedy, selfish, and barbaric. He’d mocked Father’s horses after the incident, spread lies and rumors that their family weren’t reputable as breeders at all, that all their horses were drugged upon purchase to hide their true temperaments.</p><p> </p><p>It drove them to ruin.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>As the years passed, Abiyad grew, but so did Helene.</p><p> </p><p>She was still a short girl, but she grew her hair long and plaited it behind her ears. At sixteen, she’d still not shed her baby fat, which Abiyad found to be the perfect way to get her spitting mad. <em> Round face, </em>he mocked her, and she’d puff up like a blowfish, only enhancing the feature.</p><p> </p><p>She’d become a priestess easily, always wearing that ridiculous white robe, but rarely with her mask. Whenever he saw her during the day, it was from afar. She always rode a large speckled-gray horse, and the people would flock to her, grasp for her hands and beg her to bless their children and to protect the sick from harm. Her primary job was to aid people in entering and exiting Argyros’s pool, which was rumored to have magical healing properties. </p><p> </p><p>However, she often went out to bring encouragement to the poor and unfortunate.</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad scowled as he watched his sister parade through the city. The high priest, Emilios, had made her something akin to a celebrity, claiming she was chosen by the gods despite not having the birthmark. That she was still special, and so was everyone else who worshiped Argyros. </p><p> </p><p>He shook his head. He needed to talk to her. Alone.</p><p> </p><p>Every day, after his morning hunts for the local butcher, he’d wait near the market square’s fountain. It was one of the few places Helene visited daily, and over the years, they’d made it a practice to try to speak face to face at least three times a week. But she was always guarded or surrounded by other priestesses. He’d rarely managed to get her alone since she’d been taken, and that was ten years ago now.</p><p> </p><p>Sighing, he whittled on a piece of soft wood, carving a flute. As a boy, he’d gotten into the habit of making things for her as little gifts and sneaking them into the temple when no one else was looking. A flower necklace, an earring made from river stone, a colorful piece of string to weave along her horse’s bridle.</p><p> </p><p>He watched her in silence as she dismounted the gelding and stood before a small deer boy, her robes billowing around her as she knelt to the child’s level. </p><p> </p><p>A soldier approached.</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad stilled his knife.</p><p> </p><p>Human Byzantine soldiers had been showing up for months, traveling into the Bulgarian Empire, though there were rumors of an attempt to conquer the Balkans. The damned Romans had been trying to control Beastmen for centuries; long ago, they’d used them for sport in gladiator battles. The softer Beastmen, like sheep, had been made slaves. It wasn’t until after Christianity was acknowledged by Constantine that the Beastmen finally found a form of freedom—and ultimately, how Nirvasyl was founded. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least if the humans decided to make a move on Nirvasyl in order to get a foothold in the north.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t read this soldier from that far away, but the man was tall and broad. His torso was covered in metal scaled armor, and he carried a long sword at his hip and a shield that was half his size. </p><p> </p><p>The soldier’s helmet gleamed in the sunlight as he bent to speak to Helene, who seemed surprised at his approach. Abiyad was in human form, and to morph suddenly in the open streets would be seen as a sign for a fight. Still, he strained to listen.</p><p> </p><p>“…speak with…how did…ah…”</p><p> </p><p>The conversation lasted only a moment, and the soldier left.</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad hadn’t realized how hard he’d been gripping the knife until his palm ached. He’d half-morphed his hands into claws, and they’d bitten into skin. Hard enough to draw a small trickle of blood.</p><p> </p><p>Helene finished her work, then led her gelding to the fountain, opposite of Abiyad. The moment she let her mount drink, he twisted on his hip and glared at her. “Why were you talking to that human?”</p><p> </p><p>Helene pretended she didn’t see him, instead stroked the horse’s mane. “I didn’t know you cared so much for men’s affections towards me, brother.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not what I was implying, and you know it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm. Then what were you implying?” She faced him, one brow arched.</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad faltered, knowing that any answer he gave would get her mad. She didn’t like him interfering with her priestess work, and he tried his best to understand, to stay out of it, but he just…</p><p> </p><p>“What does a human want from a wolf priestess?” he asked instead. He sat facing her now, one foot under his thigh so not to get it wet. </p><p> </p><p>A shrug. “Nothing. He just wanted to know what I was doing to the boy, and if it would help. He asked…” She paused, brows furrowing. “It’s nothing.”</p><p> </p><p>Definitely not nothing if she wasn’t going to tell him. Fine. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, don’t go near him. Or any of them. They’re trouble.”</p><p> </p><p>She rolled her eyes. “You can’t tell me what to do.”</p><p> </p><p>True. He hadn’t been able to tell her anything even when she had lived in their family home. “At least use your head. That’s all I suggest.”</p><p> </p><p>A long sigh, and she pulled her cloak hood back, revealing her long braid. It thumped against her shoulder as she spun to face him, hands on hips. “Bibi, you really are boring. Just because Father and Mother aren’t here to worry about me doesn’t mean you have to. I’m <em> fine </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>He scowled at the nickname; it was something she’d called him since she was a toddler, and it had always gotten under his skin.</p><p> </p><p>“I need to speak with you. Alone.”</p><p> </p><p>“We are alone, you stupid dog.”</p><p> </p><p>He nearly choked with laughter. She was so poised and collected in public that sometimes he forgot what her real personality was like. “I mean away from the streets and prying eyes.” He could already spot a few white robes making their way into the square. Helene was never far from her escorts. “Can you spare ten minutes? Please?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh shut up.” She smacked his arm, signaling him to stand. “Just follow me.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>She led him to the temple, of all places. It was nearly empty despite noon usually being a busy hour, and Abiyad glowered when the giant marble statue of Argyros came into view. The damned thing was bigger than an elephant, and it depicted the wolf god in a pose of power. At its forepaws were meat and incense offerings—he never understood that part—and Abiyad snatched one before Helene noticed.</p><p> </p><p>She shoved him into a dark corner between two rows of marble pillars. “Quickly,” she hissed. She’d tied her horse outside so that any other priests might think she was up front. “They’ll realize I’m gone sooner than you think.”</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad sighed, but she was right. Emilios, to put it lightly, didn’t like him. He disapproved of Abiyad trying to meet with Helene, insisting he was a bad influence on his own sister. A distraction from the ways of their god, a worldly attachment.</p><p> </p><p>He took a bite of the meat stick. “Okay, so—”</p><p> </p><p>Helene’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “What are you doing?! You can’t eat the temple offering! It’s blasphemy!”</p><p> </p><p>She tried to grab it from him, but all he had to do was throw his arm into the air. She was too short to reach, even when jumping.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s no way there’s a god who won’t answer your prayers just because you won’t give it food!” Helene kicked at his shin, and he bumped her backwards with his forearm. “You can’t hurt me, so stop trying.”</p><p> </p><p>Her glare sharpened as he took another bite, and she shook her head. “Just because you don’t believe in him doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist, nor does it mean you get to disrespect this temple. Ass.”</p><p> </p><p>“True, I am an ass.” Abiyad licked the meat juices off his fingers. “But I decided a long time ago that I won’t attach myself to something like that.”</p><p> </p><p>“And that’s why you’re a miserable old man.”</p><p> </p><p>“Old? <em> Me </em>? Do you even have eyes, little sister? I’m in peak health.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh yes, very old.” She grinned and pressed her index fingers to her dimpled cheeks. “You don’t even know how to smile properly anymore! You’ll develop wrinkles with how much you frown.”</p><p> </p><p>“Little shit,” he growled, though there was humor to it. He sighed and handed her the remains of the offering. Okay, maybe he was taking it too far. “Here. I came to talk to you about the Byzantines, not start a fight.”</p><p> </p><p>Helene’s brows rose, but she took the meat and slipped it somewhere into the endless folds of her robes. “The Byzantines? Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you think it’s suspicious they’re here?”</p><p> </p><p>“No? They come and go as they please, just like everyone else.” She squinted. “Is this about…Mother?”</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad froze. His nostrils flared. “This has nothing to do with Mother.”</p><p> </p><p>Pity had entered her eyes. Gods, anything but that. She was not allowed to pity him in any way, shape, or form. </p><p> </p><p>“Just because one human—”</p><p> </p><p>“No.” He held his hand up to silence her, and he willed his anger to remain below the surface. He’d bury it if he had to. “We’re not talking about that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Abiyad, if you’d just talk to me about it, then you could let go of your hatred for them. It was an accident. Argyros will guide your heart if you’d just—”</p><p> </p><p>“I said no!” He practically roared it, and nearby birds scattered to the air. Passerbyers on the streets turned to look, some even paused. </p><p> </p><p>Abiyad chewed his lip. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”</p><p> </p><p>Helene had clutched her robe to her chest, her gaze distant again. “There’s nothing to worry about when it comes to the Byzantines. Argyros will take care of us, so stop worrying about it, okay? Leave this to someone who knows how to deal with it.” A flash of white came from behind her, and she jerked her head toward it. “I have to go. We’ll talk again later, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>She turned on her heel, and Abiyad didn’t try to stop her as she marched away, back into the daylight. The neatest civilians cried out with wonder upon seeing her, rushing to her side, and she held her hands out for them to grasp. </p><p> </p><p>And Abiyad remained in the shadows, like he always did.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad spent the following days working with the local butcher, hunting hares and red deer. Each day, he came into the city with dread, for each day, the damned Byzantines would stare at him. Not just him, of course, but any of the larger, more carnivorous Beastmen. It didn’t matter if Beastmen, no matter their type, could eat any food, but some humans had gotten it into their heads that Beastmen who took predator forms were man eaters.</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad would be a liar if he said he’d never thought about it. Once. Maybe twice. Just a taste. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Shirou! That’s gross! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It’s a joke, I promise. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>But the soldiers were particularly interested in him when he brought an impressive stag through the city gates. He’d morphed to increase his strength, tied the beast’s legs, and then wrapped it around his shoulders. Its antlers were so broad that they scraped the cobblestone, and it wasn’t just the humans who stared.</p><p> </p><p>“Good kill!” A soldier shouted from a nearby food stall. “If you let me buy it, I’ll pay you extra.”</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad grunted in response. Only one man would get this deer, and that man was Simeon, the butcher. A bull Beastman, he was even taller than Abiyad, and twice as broad. </p><p> </p><p>When Abiyad brought the deer, the older man cackled with glee. “You bastard, you really got it didn’t you? That creature’s practically become a myth around here. No one’s been able to kill it! You really are something.”</p><p> </p><p>Another grunt. Abiyad avoided talking if he could help it, and always tried to keep to the point. “How much?”</p><p> </p><p>Simeon told him, and it was enough. Once the coin purse had entered Abiyad’s paws, he was gone. Tomorrow, he’d hunt again, and the day after that. It was the best way he’d found to help support his father, ever since…well, since it was just the two of them. Abiyad lived in the city to keep an eye on Helene, but he stayed with Father as often as he could.</p><p> </p><p>After Father’s horse breeding business had gone under, he’d taken to sheep herding. That day, he’d insisted Abiyad watch the flock while he went into Nirvasyl to barter for supplies. Abiyad couldn’t tell him no. Not when his father lived alone, his hair turning gray and his face wrinkling like that of an elder. </p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t been the same since Mother died.</p><p> </p><p>The air was cool that day, and he sat on his favorite rock, which had grown worn from all the years he and Father had sat upon it. The ewes and lambs grazed lazily, their gentle <em> baaas </em>threatening to put him to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>He slid to the soft grass beside the rock and lay on his back. A breeze ruffled his sun kissed hair, and puffy clouds rolled overhead. For once, there was…peace. Just the gentle rocking of the world. As a child, he’d never taken advantage of this. He’d been all <em> go go go </em>, ready for action, ready for anything to be thrown his way because he just wanted to prove he could do it.</p><p> </p><p>Now he was just tired. Bone tired. His back and knees hurt, and he was only twenty-two. Maybe Helene was right; he was turning into an old man.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t mean to fall asleep. To sleep while watching sheep was a shepherd’s greatest sin. To sleep meant death. To the sheep, to the flock, to the livelihood. </p><p> </p><p>And it caught him that day.</p><p> </p><p>It was the strong scent of smoke that woke him. An ewe’s hooves clipped him as he sat up, and he yelped as the whole flock raced past him, their bleats terror filled.</p><p> </p><p>What—?</p><p> </p><p>He turned toward the house. It was fine, perfect even, but—</p><p> </p><p>Oh gods.</p><p> </p><p>Smoke billowed from the northeast, from Nirvasyl. It was a cruel, black creature turning the sky the color of ash. </p><p> </p><p>“No, no, no, no.” He broke into a run. Ran so hard and fast that his paw pads bled. Fire consumed the city, and there was a distant, horrible noise. Like crying, like roaring. Like creatures being torn apart.</p><p> </p><p>Helene. Where was Helene? Father?</p><p> </p><p>He paused long enough outside the gates to focus on their scents. He caught Helene’s first. Her smell—it was…wrong. It was still hers, but it’d changed. No longer was it like wool, but like rot. Like ruin.</p><p> </p><p>He rushed through the secondary gates. Flames engulfed the city, screams split the air. His nose burned—the scents—so many—too many—he couldn’t find them—a mule bolted past him, screaming, as its flesh burned. The distant cry of a child ripped through his bones. </p><p> </p><p>And the humans…they were everywhere. Their swords gleamed, their eyes wild as their arrows rained, their blades cut through rib cages, sliced off heads. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Shirou paused for a moment, and Michiru stared. “What’s wrong? I didn’t interrupt.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He grit his teeth, eyes flashing back and forth as he searched his memories. These were fainter, not as clear. He remembered the feelings more than what was actually said or done. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He swallowed. Focused. If he continued telling the story in third person, then it wouldn’t hurt as much. “Sorry. I’m just…thinking. Give me a moment.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad saw red, red like blood pooling between his toes, red like the fire. He tore through the streets, snapping necks, deflecting swords, breaking kneecaps. It wasn’t hard. In fact, it was easy. Easy as breathing. They were so…fragile. Human bodies had to be protected by armor, by swords, but they were soft underneath. Breakable.</p><p> </p><p>He ran through the city, shouting Helene’s name. The temple had been reduced to rubble. Argyros’s head was gone, the crumbling remains littering the floor. Dead priests laid nearby with arrows spearing their spines, and their mouths hung open in permanent, terrible screams.</p><p> </p><p>Still no Helene. Her scent was long gone. Evaporated by the wind that fueled the flames.</p><p> </p><p>No, no, he’d find her. She wasn’t dead. Not yet. He’d find her—</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t make it far.</p><p> </p><p>Soldiers, dozens, hundreds, gathered in the city square. They each carried a silver and green banner with a tree-like marking on it, and their general sat upon a tall black stallion. Said general’s face was covered by a helmet, but Abiyad remembered that symbol, the man’s voice—</p><p> </p><p>It was the human from before. The one who’d wanted the bay colt, the one who’d ruined everything.</p><p> </p><p>And now he’d killed Helene. Father. Simeon. All of his kin, everyone, everyone was <em> gone </em>.</p><p> </p><p>His body burned, hot, sticky, from the fire and his rage. With a roar, he flung himself at the general, aiming to rip him from his horse. </p><p> </p><p>But…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “You don’t have to tell me how you died, Shirou. It’s okay.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Shirou had clutched his abdomen without realizing, his clawed fingers digging into fabric and threatening to tear it. Like the silvery scar that marked his throat, two existed on his torso. One for the entry point of a cavalry spear, the second for the exit. It had torn muscle, cracked bone.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He could still remember the sound it’d made. A horrible, sick echo. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Michiru snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder and pressing her mouth against the pillow. “I’m listening, I promise.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He swallowed. Sweat rolled off his chin. “Okay. But I want to finish. I need to.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>After cutting his throat, they threw his body into the demolished temple, in a pit that had once been the sacred pool. The pool waters were absorbed by furred bodies and mixed with the blood of its people. </p><p> </p><p>Above, the general sat atop his horse, banner raised in victory. “Today, we have conquered Nirvasyl, tomorrow, the Bulgarians! For the glory of humanity, for Rome, and for God!”</p><p> </p><p>A cheer rose up from the remaining soldiers, but their voices were growing distant. Further and further. Abiyad’s eyes blurred black at the edges, and he grit his teeth. </p><p> </p><p>No. This wasn’t the end. He had to get up, make them pay, make them <em> bleed </em>.</p><p> </p><p>He could have swore he felt a hand on his cheek. A soft voice in his ear, but it was too muted. His hearing was gone.</p><p> </p><p>“Mother?” His voice was a rasp, his throat too full of blood. Hot, like iron. “He-Helene?”</p><p> </p><p>He was too injured to move properly, but he grasped for something, someone, anything. His hand found nothing but empty air.</p><p> </p><p>The world became ash.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>A light. Pale, iridescent, blinding, endless.</p><p> </p><p>His mind couldn’t comprehend it.</p><p> </p><p>And then it rushed past him like a strong wind, like a curtain of snow. He crouched on his knees, gasping for breath as he fell forward, choking. </p><p> </p><p>Darkness, but not completely.</p><p> </p><p>A giant wolf, taller than any horse, stood before him. Its coat was white like priest robes, and it glowed. Abiyad stilled, panting, shaking, as it bent its head low. Large amber eyes filled his vision, unblinking.</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad clutched his throat. He swore he could still feel blood between his fingers. “W-who are you? Where am I?” He felt stone beneath his knees, but this place…it didn’t make any sense. There was nothing but the wolf.</p><p> </p><p>The wolf blinked, slowly, saying nothing. Could it speak? Was this just a dream? Was this the last thing he would see before he evaporated into nothing?</p><p> </p><p>Other shapes appeared. Ghosts, phantoms, each bearing the traits of his kinsmen. Rabbit ears, leopard tails, deer antlers. One approached him from the front. It was a shadow with hazy edges, faceless, except for bright white holes for eyes. </p><p> </p><p>A choked sob raked his chest. He knew who she was. By her shape, by the long braid, by the gentle stoop she took to kneel by his side. She had no expression—how could she?—but she took his hand, and he cried her name, begging her to forgive him, for leaving her alone, for not arriving sooner.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>The others came forward, circling him. Helene didn’t release his hand, not even when he stood, and the others reached for him as well. Their touch was that of bird’s wings, soft and fleeting, not completely there.</p><p> </p><p>“W-what do you want? I-I-I can’t do anything, why can’t you speak, why—”</p><p> </p><p>The wolf bent its nose to him, and Abiyad flinched back. That eerie stare remained, unblinking, as if it were looking into his very being. His kin did the same. Their white stares were torturous; he couldn’t bear to look at them.</p><p> </p><p>Then a voice, like thunder, like the end of days, rattled his bones. <b>“You shall be bathed in thine own blood and be reborn. Avenge thy kinsmen.”</b></p><p> </p><p>“I, what?” Abiyad tried to pull away, but his kin clung to him, their nails biting. “I don’t understand. Please—”</p><p> </p><p>The wolf opened its wide maw, displaying glistening fangs.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait—what are you—don’t!” He tried to stand, to run, but the wolf snapped him up, holding him headfirst in its jaws as he screamed.</p><p> </p><p>It devoured him.</p><p> </p><p>And blood poured.</p><p> </p><p>The next thing Abiyad knew, he was thrust back into the world of the living, but not in the same body he’d been born in. A bright light flashed, and he burst from the corpse pile with a roar of fury, startling the remaining soldiers who’d been guarding it nearby. Dismembered pieces of his people rained down as he tore back to this world, not as a man, not even as a Beastman, but as something else entirely. </p><p> </p><p>It was night, and the general was long gone, but that hadn’t stopped his rage. He ripped through those remaining soldiers like a burning sword. He tore their limbs from sockets, crushed skulls with his jaws, and tossed them aside as if they were nothing.</p><p> </p><p>Because they were nothing. All of them. Every last single human in that city was <em> nothing </em>, and he would kill them all.</p><p> </p><p>But not before he found the general.</p><p> </p><p>Except, he didn’t get the chance, because all of that blood that was poured into him, all of that energy, overwhelmed his system. After killing those guards, he collapsed, and didn’t wake until early morning when scavengers found him.</p><p> </p><p>He woke to a lone dog licking his cheek. Abiyad’s eyes snapped open, and the dog bolted out of sight. For a moment, he just lay there, breathed, collected his thoughts. Analyzed his surroundings.</p><p> </p><p>Stone beneath him. A light wind. The air was hot, and the smell of death lingered.</p><p> </p><p>He had…died. And then he’d been resurrected. Somehow. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Why? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>With a groan, he tried to sit up on all fours. Grit and stones dug into his knees and palms, and when he lifted his hands, he sucked in a sharp breath.</p><p> </p><p>His hands, his arms, everything, was covered in blood. Was it his? The humans’? That wolf had said he’d be bathed in it, reborn, but—</p><p> </p><p>With a cough, he stumbled to the fountain. Somehow, it was untouched, except for the scorch marks from the fires. Some of that fire still burned—he could smell it—but all other lights were gone. No lanterns, no torches, no candles. Only the light of stars and silver dawnlight breaking the horizon.</p><p> </p><p>Abiyad, surprisingly, felt no pain. He knelt by the fountain and splashed water on his face. Exhaled. Once. Twice.</p><p> </p><p>Breathe. Just breathe. “Easy,” he chided himself, remembering how his father would calm the horses when startled. “Steady.”</p><p> </p><p>He ran a wet hand over his face and paused. Stared.</p><p> </p><p>What the hell?</p><p> </p><p>His hair…was white. He ran his hand through it, double checking that what he was seeing wasn’t his imagination. The closer he looked, he realized his eyes were no longer brown either, but an opaque grayish-green. It was as if all the color had been ripped out of him, leaving nothing behind.</p><p> </p><p>Curious, he morphed, only to jump back in alarm. </p><p> </p><p>Gods damn him, even his fur was silver. He ran his hands over his face, his muzzle, along his arms. White, or pale silver? He’d never seen a white wolf before. Did…did those even exist? He’d met few other wolf Beastmen, and they’d all been colors ranging from black to sandy blond.</p><p> </p><p>Never white.</p><p> </p><p>What the hell had happened to him? He looked like…like…</p><p> </p><p>He twisted to face what remained of the temple. Whispers filled his head, faint at first. The closer he came to the crumbling pillars, the louder they grew, but he couldn’t make out the words. It was like trying to decipher the buzz of a wasp’s nest.</p><p> </p><p>The stench of death overwhelmed him, and he fell to the floor. Blood stained his hands again as tears rolled over his cheeks in a steady stream. They were gone. All of them, but they’d…they’d saved him, somehow. Somehow their blood brought him back.</p><p> </p><p>Now he understood. <em> Bathed in thine own blood. </em>Not just his blood, but theirs.</p><p> </p><p>The buzzing grew louder, until it became a roar. Abiyad bowed his head so that his forehead touched the floor. Not once had he ever prayed to Argyros, and despite what he’d seen, he still wasn’t sure if what he’d encountered was a true god. But there was no other explanation for what had happened to him.</p><p> </p><p>So he prayed to the voices, their frantic whispers, their crying pleas. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Avenge us, avenge us, avenge us. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll find him,” he snarled. “I’ll find the general, and I’ll tear him limb from limb. He will suffer like we have suffered.” He stood, and pulling a blackened and singed priest’s cloak over his shoulders, he turned toward the rising sun. The blinding light made his shadow stretch long, like a monster waiting to devour.  </p><p> </p><p>“I promise you.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The clock read 2:13 AM. </p><p> </p><p>Shirou hadn’t moved from his spot by the bed, but the ice pack had long stopped being cold. Michiru lay on his bed, her head upside down over the edge. She still hugged that damn pillow, and she didn’t speak for a long moment.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s it?”</p><p> </p><p>Shirou rolled his neck to look at her. “What do you mean <em> that’s it </em>? I told you the story. You know the rest.” Well, sort of. He was too tired to talk about how he’d hunted Reymond Sylvasta—though he still hadn’t known the general’s name at the time—all the way to Constantinople. Or how he’d had to team up with pirates to cross into the Byzantine Empire in the first place, only to find out the general was all the way back in Bulgaria.</p><p> </p><p>That’d been its own nightmare.</p><p> </p><p>“That is so not the end!” Michiru jumped up on all fours and glared at him. “There’s more to it than that! What about after? I know you didn’t find the general, but Mayor Rose said you saved <em> her </em>! I wanna hear that story! I wanna hear more about what you did all those years ago!”</p><p> </p><p>Shirou groaned. He should have never opened his mouth. He should have just told her to leave him alone after she’d brought him the medicine. "That’s not going to work. I can only store enough memories for one lifetime at a time.”</p><p> </p><p>Her voice turned flat. “What.”</p><p> </p><p>"I’d say I only have twenty-five years worth of memory at any given time, tops.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re joking.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do I ever joke with you?”</p><p> </p><p>Her ears drooped. “No! But...so you have no idea what you were doing in like 1564?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not a clue.”</p><p> </p><p>“ARRGH!” She racked her hands through her hair and flopped back onto the bed. “This is so uncool! Is this how the universe decided to nerf you? Let you live for so long and then make you forget everything!?” She paused her tantrum to glare at him again. “What’s that smug look for? Are you lying?”</p><p> </p><p>“Smug?” Shirou hadn’t even noticed he’d been smirking. “Oh. Well, I supposed I was exaggerating a little. I’m sure there’s more I remember, I just haven’t thought about it in a long time. There’s not really ever been a point to.”</p><p> </p><p>“So you do know what you were doing in 1564?!”</p><p> </p><p>“If I think about it a while longer, I might remember.”</p><p> </p><p>With a dramatic bounce of her tail, she flipped off the bed and squealed. “That’s awesome! You have to tell me! Pleeeease!!”</p><p> </p><p>He sighed, but a bit overdramatically. This really had been a bad decision. She wouldn’t shut up about it for the next six months, if she was even still in Anima City for that long.</p><p> </p><p>He stood but immediately regretted it because pins and needles sliced up both legs. Stumbling back onto his bed, he flicked her on the forehead. “You’ll get another story when it’s not 2AM. Go to bed.”</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes lit up. “What?! Really?!”</p><p> </p><p>“Go to <em> bed </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shirrrouuuu, I’m going to cryyyy.”</p><p> </p><p>He threw a pillow at her, making her yelp as she fled for the hall. “I’m going, I’m going!” But she paused just outside the door, looking at him sheepishly. “Shirou, um…before I go, I just wanted to say thanks for sharing all that with me. I know it must have been hard. I won’t tell anyone what you told me, either. I know you like to keep stuff private and all.”</p><p> </p><p>Shirou didn’t say anything at first, just stared at the ceiling. His throat was sore from talking for so long, but…his body felt lighter. His heart too. As if a weight had literally been lifted from his chest. He’d held on to those memories for so long…</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks for listening,” he murmured, and meant it.</p><p> </p><p>Michiru’s expression turned soft. “Goodnight. Er, good morning? Whichever!”</p><p> </p><p>“Goodnight, brat,” he rumbled back, and she rolled her eyes before disappearing down the hall.</p><p> </p><p>For the first time in a long time, the nightmares didn’t return.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Some more thoughts: I personally thought a lot of the lore around Nirvasyl Syndrome was confusing and not well explained. I think Alan was still lying--or at least misunderstood--about how/why Nirvasyl Syndrome happens. That isn’t really covered in this fic since Shirou himself didn’t know about it at the time. I also disagree with Alan saying the humans had no chance against Beastmen--historical human armies are pretty cool and inventive, and I think they could have stood a chance. But we don’t really know, because Beastmen aren’t real. LOL</p><p>The name Abiyad comes from the BNA light novel (which I haven't read because currently it's only available in Japanese /cries). It supposedly means "white" in Arabic, which I know doesn't match up because I gave him brown hair as a mortal, but shhh! I just love the trope that when people become gods or get superpowers, their hair changes color, lol. I don't know if Abiyad was his actual birth name either, but eh, I just ran with it!</p><p>So yeah, thanks for reading! Don't forget to leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed! I'd love to write more BNA stuff in the future, particularly about Shirou's adventures haha. I still have some MHA fics I want to finish though. :P So we'll see!</p><p>Also, <a href="https://rowdyredriot.tumblr.com/post/624296658443943936/so-i-havea-headcanonjust-listen-ok"> here's a drawing</a> I did of how I imagine mortal Shirou to have looked. </p><p>EDIT: <a href="https://rowdyredriot.tumblr.com/post/624556466920177664/jock-vs-goth-energy-shirou-portraits-for-my-fic"> Here's </a>an illustration I made for this fic as well.</p><p><a href="https://twitter.com/FaindriArt">Twitter</a> / <a href="https://rowdyredriot.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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